There was a sudden, searing flash of light, and the world seemed to go silent. Max was thrown backward, landing on the ground with a jarring thud. As the ringing in his ears subsided, the storm’s Jovian roar returned.
Rising to his feet, Max stared mutely at the scorched remains of the Promethean Scholars. Their bodies had been broken and scattered like rag dolls about the perimeter of a smoldering crater. The power that had sent such a bolt was unimaginable. Speechless, Max wrenched his gaze away from the carnage and looked out over the sea.
Astaroth was there.
Even from the shore, Max could see the white face at the prow of the hulking black flagship. The Demon’s hands were outstretched, beseeching a sky whose churning elements responded to his call. The maelstrom above gathered mass and energy, assuming enormous proportions until it seemed a colossus, capable of swallowing the world.
“My God,” muttered a terror-stricken Mystic, gaping at the storm’s slow majesty. “We can’t possibly fight this. . . .”
Others apparently agreed. Max watched them go, hurrying away toward the Sanctuary like frightened creatures scurrying to their burrow. The Red Branch and several other senior Agents remained, however—Max saw one pass a blade to Cooper. Another movement caught Max’s eye: Miss Boon was snatching up whatever remains of the Scholars’ books she could find before the wind whisked them from the bluff. Above the pandemonium, Max heard Ms. Richter and Vilyak locked in a heated argument.
“I won’t!” screamed Commander Vilyak.
“But you can’t use it,” yelled Ms. Richter. “You’ve never been able to use it!”
“It belongs to the Director!” protested Vilyak, covering the Founder’s Ring with his other hand.
“There won’t be a Director, Yuri!”
The statement seemed to have a profound effect on Commander Vilyak. He looked out again at the approaching armada, its progress now steady and uncontested. Snatching the ring from his finger, he practically flung it at Ms. Richter, then fled through the cold rain toward the Sanctuary.
Cooper’s face twisted into a derisive scowl and for a moment, Max thought the Red Branch might pursue their cowardly commander. Instead, they turned their backs on Vilyak, following Cooper to the stone stairs that led down to the beach, where they would meet the first of the attackers. Max went to follow, but Cooper stopped him.
“Remember your oath, Max. Leave this fight to us.”
Ms. Richter hurried over.
“Cooper,” she said. “Call them off those stairs this instant—it’s suicide.” She turned to Max, her voice taut with command. “Where is David Menlo?” she demanded. “We need him here.”
“David’s been badly hurt, Director,” said Max. “He can’t help us.”
Ms. Richter blinked and gazed up at the monstrous storm. Max feared that she, too, would be consumed with terror, but instead the Director’s features became very still. She slipped the Founder’s Ring upon her finger and beckoned gently to Miss Boon.
“Hazel,” she commanded, “leave those be and take my hand.” The young Mystics instructor abandoned the clutch of precious pages and did as she was told. Max watched the two women walk to the cliff ’s edge. The Founder’s Ring burned as bright as a living jewel. Ms. Richter raised it against the advancing ships.
Max felt the earth shudder once, then again. Sea spray whipped against his face as he marveled at the scene below.
The ocean was surging toward the beach as though the craggy bluff itself had taken a slow, deep breath. The inrush of water built momentum quickly, obliterating the Kestrel ’s dock against the stone steps. Crashing against the cliffs, the water rose in a churning, gurgling mass. When it reached the height of the cliffs, however, the water did not spill over but instead rose higher, solid as the very earth. Max watched it climb, a trembling wall of seawater in which rock and boats and corpses were eerily suspended, mortared into place by some unseen force.
The Founder’s Ring blazed brighter, and Ms. Richter sent the lethal wall of water roaring back toward the Enemy.
Max watched, breathless, as the crashing seawall snapped boats and backs alike. Even the distant galleons pitched precariously on the waves, and Max found himself cheering wildly as several of the massive ships finally succumbed, toppling onto their sides and spilling hundreds into the murderous sea.
“You’re doing it, Ms. Richter!” cried Max. “You’re beating them!”
The Red Branch echoed Max’s cheers and even the storm seemed to weaken, shedding some of its awful force and scale. Through the rain, Max squinted and searched the sea, hopeful that the white face had been swept clear from its deck.
But it was not to be.
Astaroth stood, unmoving, at the prow of the flagship. The Demon’s voice carried on the wind until it seemed he whispered in Max’s ear.
“I see you. And I am coming.”
A gale came howling in off the ocean, so abrupt and powerful that all gave way before it.
Max pressed himself flat and clung to the wet earth, scrabbling for a hold as the wind screamed above him. Ms. Richter and Miss Boon were blasted off their feet, their connection lost as the women were sent tumbling like scattered leaves.
The storm thundered again and unnatural flashes of light danced from cloud to cloud like witch fire. Max saw Ms. Richter regain her feet and march with grim determination back toward the cliff.
The Director had almost reached her destination when the air grew hushed once again. A sense of dread consumed Max. There was an incandescent flash and a crack of thunder so piercing it shattered Maggie’s windows.
Opening his eyes, Max registered the outcome with dull shock: Ms. Richter lay motionless within a pit of earth and fire.
20
SOMETHING WICKED
Miss Boon was the first to reach Ms. Richter’s body. The Mystics instructor wept as she struggled to pull the limp form from the smoking crater, straining with all her might until Cooper arrived to help. The Agent laid the Director on the wet grass and shielded her placid face from the rain. Max stood by them in stunned silence, his eyes fixed on the Founder’s Ring, which faded like an ember.
“We must get to the Sanctuary, Hazel,” said Cooper, gently pulling Miss Boon away. “There’s nothing more to do here.”
“We’re not leaving her behind,” protested Miss Boon. “She deserves a proper burial!”
A member of the Red Branch interrupted Cooper’s reply.
“William,” called the man, staring over the bluff. Cooper stood and strode toward the overlook.
Max hurried over and saw the beach crawling with vyes and goblins, whose bent backs dripped with seawater and glistened under the moonlight. Upon landing, the creatures set to assembling pontoon bridges that were anchored into bedrock like a dozen jetties, extending farther and farther through the chop toward the galleons, where Max could see the silhouettes of great siege engines being hooked onto heavy cranes.
There was a hoarse cry from the beach as Max and the others were seen. Goblin arrows flew at them in lethal arcs. Max felt one thud against his torso, snapping harmlessly on Señor Lorca’s shirt. Following the volley of arrows, vyes began to swarm up the ruined remnants of stairs that led from the beach.
Cooper yanked Max away from the edge of the bluff.
“Run!” he shouted.
Cooper gathered up Miss Boon and dashed back toward the Manse, whose windows were all alight and looking strangely festive. Turning, Max saw the dark shapes of the first vyes rise above the windswept rim of the overlook. Several stooped over the body of Ms. Richter. Max stopped running as rage boiled in his chest.
A firm hand seized him.
“Don’t you dare,” growled Cooper, pulling him forward.
More vyes scrambled over the bluff and fanned across the lawns in pursuit, some running upright while others galloped through the rain on all fours. Miss Boon began falling behind, unable to keep pace with the Agents. Without breaking stride, Cooper swept the teacher up onto his
shoulder. The group sprinted past the Manse, Max and the others practically flying down the worn paths that wound past the orchard and Smithy, until they neared the Sanctuary door.
Dozens of people were already clustered about it, chattering in the cold as they waited helplessly in the downpour. Max recognized Mr. Morrow among the crowd. Bob stood in the group’s center, towering above them and doing his best to shield them from the storm.
“Why aren’t you inside?” yelled Cooper. “They should know we’re coming.”
“Vilyak came first,” replied Bob with a growl. “We can’t get in.”
Cooper set to pushing and tugging at the great ring in the door’s center. The door did not budge.
“Bob has already tried,” muttered the ogre, a hint of grim humor in his voice as he watched the far weaker human tremble with exertion.
“Hazel,” said Cooper, his voice even, “can you open this?”
Miss Boon hurried forward, muttering several spells even as howls and cries echoed from the woods around them. Despite her efforts, the door remained fast.
Snapping branches and hoarse calls sounded from the woods. Cooper yelled a word of command and the closest tree ignited like a sparkler whose flames leapt from tree to tree until the whole forest seemed ablaze despite the rain. Hideous screams rang out, sending the freed prisoners and elderly refugees into a gibbering panic. Practically frantic, Miss Boon tried spell after spell with no success.
Something galloped into the clearing.
It was a jet-black vye, its fur badly singed and its face hideously half human as it leapt over the fence of the stable’s riding ring and hurled itself at Mr. Morrow. Max saw a great hand surge forward; the vye gave a strangled yelp as Bob caught it by its throat.
With sudden uncharacteristic savagery, the ogre dashed the vye repeatedly against the rain-spattered earth, continuing to snap its bones well after the monster was dead.
Bob stood panting over the vye’s misshapen carcass a moment, a primal, horrifying gleam consuming his once friendly features. Cooper began to approach, but a low rumble emanated from Bob’s chest and the Agent stopped dead in his tracks. Max knew there was language in that rumble—a nearly subsonic warning to keep well away from an ogre that had just killed for the first time in decades. Cooper backed away slowly while Bob leaned heavily against the fence, taking slow gulps of air as his massive head scanned the forest.
Other wolfish silhouettes arrived at the fringe of the burning woods. They rose onto their hind legs and assessed the situation, considerably more cautious than their maddened comrade who lay broken behind the ogre. One of the vyes lifted its head and howled. The others followed suit and soon the whole forest was alive with terrifying calls that led yet more vyes to the clearing.
Bob reached for a rusted spade nearby, hefting the heavy tool as though it were a toy. Straightening, the ogre stalked toward the vyes and gave a roar.
Even within the Course, Max had never heard anything so awful.
Only a cornered creature could make such a sound. It was a booming, defiant bellow that mixed fear and rage and love in equal measure. The vyes shrank back initially, preferring the shelter of the forest, despite the falling embers. But their courage grew as their numbers swelled and they began to encircle the ogre, baring their jagged teeth and clawing at the muddy earth for purchase.
Several vyes leapt forward and Bob swung the shovel, shattering one’s muzzle with a heavy clang. With another swing, the ogre flattened a second vye. But then the others were upon him, snarling and snapping as they crashed into his hulking form and scrabbled for his throat. Bob roared again and pushed them back with his free hand, swinging the dented shovel wildly about as other vyes rushed in like the tide.
Max went to Bob’s aid, but Cooper yanked him backward by the shirt.
“He needs help!” screamed Max.
“I’ve got it,” muttered Cooper, taking ahold of Max’s wrist. “Protect the others.”
“No!” yelled Max, pulling away his hand with such force that Cooper almost lost his footing.
Max hurried toward the fray, trying to reach Bob, who was now surrounded and straining under the weight of four vyes that clung to him, sinking their teeth into his flesh and wrenching their heads from side to side like feeding sharks. Seizing the first, Max yanked its head back and exposed its throat to the cold moon.
Vye after vye fell to Max’s knives. Their matted forms collapsed into the mud as Max moved among them, a lethal blur against the backdrop of rain and burning trees. From the corner of his eye, Max spied a particularly thick vye, almost boar-like in its visage, sneak close to Bob to venture a nip at the wounded ogre. Furious, Max whirled and split its head in two. He kicked its body aside and turned, looking wildly about for another nearby adversary.
There were none. Hundreds of vyes had gathered by now, ringed about the burning forest and peering at him, but none would venture close.
Panting, Max turned and looked at Bob. The ogre had collapsed into a bleeding mound, his hand blindly groping for the shovel that lay beyond his reach. Tears burned Max’s cheeks as he crouched in the rain by the ogre amidst the dozens of fallen vyes that lay about them, their tongues lolling from lifeless jaws. It was several seconds before Max realized Cooper was calling to him.
“Max, come here.”
The Agent’s voice was calm, but there was a quiet urgency to it. Max glanced back and saw the Red Branch in a defensive ring around the refugees. Beyond the people huddled by the door, Max saw Nolan’s concerned face peering out from the Sanctuary tunnel.
“Inside, Max!” cried Nolan, pushing the door wider. “Hurry now!”
Max looked back at the cowardly vyes slinking among the trees. Blood drummed in his temples and his fingers twitched while he fought to master the Old Magic that surged and strained against his will. Max heard footsteps behind him and whirled. It was Cooper.
“Help me bring Bob in,” said the Agent, taking hold of Bob’s wrist.
While the refugees streamed inside the open door, Max and Cooper dragged Bob’s thousand-pound body swiftly through the mud. The vyes crept forward from the trees as they retreated. The Red Branch entered the tunnel last, backing sinuously through the doorway, their eyes never leaving the advancing vyes.
Once all were through, Nolan slammed the heavy door shut. Cooper left Bob’s side and helped Nolan slide its heavy bolt into place.
“Will it hold them?” asked Cooper, looking dubiously at the door.
“For a while yet, I think,” said Nolan. Even as he spoke, however, dirt rained from the door’s hinges as heavy blows fell upon it from the other side. “She’s stouter than she looks, anyway—been strengthened by a heap of spells.”
“How did you know to come?” muttered Cooper, ushering the others away from the door and through the canopy of trees, whose warmer air was fragrant with pine. Max followed quietly after, listening to the men’s conversation.
“Vilyak showed up alone,” muttered Nolan. “All by his lonesome and full of stories. He should know better than to lie to YaYa. . . .”
YaYa was waiting where the tunnel met the clearing, huge and majestic against the starlit waters of the lagoon. Her black fur shimmered in the dark as she stood panting, having evidently come a great distance at a great pace. YaYa was the oldest living thing at Rowan, and Max feared the journey had taken a hard toll on the ancient ki-rin.
It was YaYa, however, who volunteered to transport Bob, insisting that the wounded ogre be draped across her back until Nolan could fashion a crude stretcher at the Warming Lodge. The once welcoming building was now silent and dark, its stalls empty, as all the young charges had been evacuated. While Nolan built the litter, Max saw the extent of Bob’s injuries. Deep puncture wounds riddled his back and arms, like stitching. In some places, whole chunks of flesh had been ripped away. The ogre lay silent while Miss Boon and several others did their best to stanch the bleeding.
Max could not watch.
He walked bac
k outside and stood at the edge of the lagoon, stirring the water with his hand and calling softly for Frigga and Helga. But the selkie sisters did not come; no winking seal’s face or bawdy joke greeted Max from the cool water. The realization that the sisters had gone—fled, most likely, to whatever distant waters fed the lagoon—somehow infused Rowan’s predicament with a reality and weight that Max had not yet had the opportunity to feel. He felt it now, however. The siege and its many implications washed over Max in numbing waves while he stirred the waters and hoped the selkies were safe.
By the time the stretcher had been built, Miss Boon’s spells had managed to halt Bob’s bleeding and put the injured ogre to sleep. Once Bob had been secured to the stretcher, the group began the long, slow march into the Sanctuary’s depths. While they walked, Max’s rage subdued into a simmer and he finally felt capable of speaking. He turned to Cooper, who walked beside him as they trailed behind the group.
“I’m sorry I didn’t obey,” said Max.
Cooper waved it off.
“I learned things,” explained Max. “In the Sidh. I knew I could—”
“I understand,” said Cooper quietly. “It was right for you to be the one.”
“Are you angry with me?”
“No.”
They walked in silence, Max surveying the landscape, until Nolan came back to check on them.
“Have you seen Nick?” asked Max hoarsely.
“Not to worry, son,” drawled Nolan. “He’s with your dad. Most of the charges are safely in the cliffs by now and the others can best look after themselves. The wild ones are out, though—seen a few lurking around. I think they know something’s wrong.”
Max thought of the wild charges that had tracked them the previous year when he and his friends had visited Mr. Morrow’s distant cottage. Bob had warned that wild charges could be dangerous, having long since forgotten that humans ever looked after them.
The Second Siege Page 38